


Four things that Sherlock needs and one that he already have.

by MorganeUK



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU: FInally are talking about things!, Episode: s03e01 The Empty Hearse, Eventual Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Gen, M/M, Mary is not important, Mutual Pining, Not in this fic but the door is wiiiiide opened, One Shot, Sad Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson Friendship, Understanding John, re-do of my first fanfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-19 23:11:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14883017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorganeUK/pseuds/MorganeUK
Summary: Four things that Sherlock needs in his life now that he's back and one that wasn't ever really lost. Just misplaced a bit maybe.Or... What if they had simply talk?  (Yes, I know. Crazy)





	Four things that Sherlock needs and one that he already have.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank to Notjustmom for the beta-ing x

Someone to talk to

_Weeks... it's been weeks..._  Weeks since Sherlock returned from the dead and found that his life as he knew it is no longer there for him.   The comfort of John's presence now only a souvenir.  Strong and always present in his thoughts and saved forever in the brightest room of his Mind Palace... but a souvenir of the past nevertheless. Slowly spinning on himself, the detective looks critically at the well-known space but even the skull grinning on the mantle, his violin and all of his familiar things were unable to bring peace to his troubled mind.  _It won't do! S_ _ome days, it seems that even MY flat is not MINE and wishes me gone for good!_ With a flourish of his blue dressing gown, he roughly spreads his tall frame on the sofa but his childish burst of exasperation turned short as he screams and winces, the rough upholstery hurting his not yet fully healed back. "That's new, even the furniture doesn't want me now!" Ms. Hudson's voice resonates in his head as he tries to ease his pain.  _Sherlock... T_ _ime heals everything_ _..._ Rolling his eyes at an empty room the detective murmurs with sadness "No, you're wrong, not everything can be healed...".

Slowly getting to his feet,  _I won't lay on a sofa which CLEARLY does not want me there,_  he paces impatiently around the room, not knowing what to do. Having been without family and friends for nearly three years, being on his own in London was strangely insufferable!   _Maybe I can call on_ _NSY_ _?_ But he quickly turns that idea down as it was impossible to join Greg on a case as he wasn't 'legally' alive yet. _Greg, that's new and probably the consequence of being mentally tortured!_  Sherlock internally snarls;  _I could... talk to someone?_   _Mycroft?_ _As if! I am not THAT desperate! Anyway, I'm still mad about how long he took to get me out of Serbia;_ _Ms._ _Hudson? No, she's worse than my mum and will only fuss and cry and push me to eat more_ ;  _Molly could bring some body parts and we could do some experiments?_  But he promptly pushed that idea as well as he has seen enough blood and gore while he was away. The eyeball waiting for him in the fridge was enough for now.

_And John... John..._  

After the eventful days that followed his return, the doctor seems to accept him back in his life but the hurt is still there, haunting his eyes, hidden away under false sentiment...  _I can see it by the way he acts around me, not trusting me, not wanting to invest in our... relationship. Whatever that is!_   As if something was definitely broken beyond any possible repair. As if it were too late...  _And to think that I was foolish enough to think..._ The chiding voice of Ms. Hudson echoes one more time in the wall of his Mind Palace:  _Time heals everything._  But Sherlock knows that the link with the doctor is nearly broken and that he won't let him come too close anymore for fear of the final blow. _The situation was definitely more than a bit not good_ , Sherlock thought with a mental nod to his ex-blogger.  In fact, the few times he tried to talk about the reasons why he had to fake his death or what happened when he was away, John had swiftly changed the subject, not wanting to talk about it.

Not wanting any excuse that could bring his forgiveness.

_It won't do!_ Sherlock repeats, frustrated with the limbo where their 'possible friendship' was stagnating under piles and piles of missed occasions, unacknowledged emotions, and unsaid words. "Would be nice if I had the right to explain myself at least!" The desperate man said out loud in an exasperated yet unusually sad tone. 

As a curious "Explain what?" came from the apartment door, Sherlock turns slowly. Already knowing whose voice it is...

 

Someone who really cares

"John", Sherlock falsely cheerfully says, "what brings you here?" Even if Sherlock was a bloody good actor, John saw the fake smile and flinch at his friend's words. Realizing that his tone wasn't as perfect as he thought, the detective continues quickly with even more fakeness "I mean... you are welcome anytime... It's just that most weekdays you are at the surgery?... Wait ...is it Saturday?"  Sherlock babbled.  _Nice job playing cool_ ,  he chastises himself, baffled by his inability to talk like a responsible adult!

"Today is Friday... God! Ms. Hudson is right you are losing it!" John said with a derisive laugh. Then he waited a few seconds before talking again as if he needed to find the strength... Frowning, he asks "Seriously, are you alright?" 

His voice, warm, but full of concern, went directly to Sherlock's heart, melting a thin layer of the ice that surrounded it. The feeling of having someone truly aware of his presence and his  feelings is suddenly overwhelming.  _No, not "someone,' John._  It was nearly too much after the days of loneliness...  Voluntary, if he's honest, but loneliness still.  _But wait, John can't be that concerned about my welfare_ _as he does not care for me anymore!_  Deducing that John stopped in 221A on his way he quickly understood what it's all about.  _A mission, I am a MISSION...Ms. Hudson or Molly probably asked him to come and see me..._ But a quick look in John's eyes shows nothing of the uneasiness that was a constant shadow since The Return. They were surprisingly warm but full of worry with a hint of anticipation.

So he lies.

"Yes, I'm fine... of course! Just fine."  Sherlock said with a dismissive tone. "But you know how it is... work, work ,work!"  adding a big theatrical gesture with his arms to distract from the lie.  _Just one more lie... it's nothing in_ _comparison_ _to all the rest_. A little white lie to keep John content that Sherlock is not causing trouble and that there's nothing wrong.  _Then he could go back to his little life, with his little girlfriend, in his little suburban flat... _It's impossible, we will never be friends again!__  

"We haven't heard from you in days and Ms. Hudson - you know how she is - called me yesterday and asked me to come and check..."  John said.

_Ah! I was right..._  Sherlock stopped listening and went to the kitchen to prep an experiment and put the kettle on.  _Tea, John always needs tea._ Satisfied to focus on the menial tasks instead of the reason why the doctor is in the flat.  _Not for him, not because he_ _wants to, but to check on him on behalf of_ _someone else_...  Lost in his mind, he didn't realize that John was now near the kitchen table, fidgeting with his coat as if not knowing if he can remove it and sit in one of the chairs. Like he does not belong in the flat anymore. "You can sit down... I have not put anything overly disgusting on the chairs!"  Sherlock said with a hint of exasperation.  _What's the point of having John here if he's not..._ _here?_  Not even in 221b on his own accord but on behalf of someone else that  _maybe_  still cares about him. "You know you may just have sent a text if you're so uncomfortable in the flat where you lived for nearly two years!" He growls out, unable to contain his burgeoning anger toward the situation. 

  

Someone who understands

An uncomfortable silence followed Sherlock's outburst. John, feeling even more out of place, was seriously thinking that he should just leave at once.  Anyway, his mission was accomplished, Sherlock seemed just as arrogant as before! But a nagging impression was forcing his feet to remain in place. Arrogant, yes, but also thinner, stiffer and something else that John can't put words to. Grounded on the floor of what was once their kitchen,  _more laboratory then kitchen usually_  John thought with an inner smile, a flash of recognition passed through his mind: anxiety.  That was the feeling that emanated from his former flatmate. Besides the usual loftiness and a false air of bravado, Sherlock Holmes is anxious. 

He looks back to Sherlock who was now fussing with mugs, sugar, and tea. "We don't have any milk," Sherlock says mindlessly as if talking to himself.   

The comforting sound of the familiar statement and the use of the pronoun 'we' sends a wave of warmth to John's heart.   _Maybe not everything is lost. Time to start everything from the beginning._ "Sherlock... You must know that we all care about you. That **I**  care about you." the doctor said softly not knowing what to say to avoid another outburst from the detective.  "If something is causing you... anxiety, you CAN tell us. Sometimes we just don't know how to show you that we care and that we are there if needed because you... you are... hum... sometimes... kind of act like..."

Sherlock curt voice cut John's speech "Let me help you, John... Like a freak? psychopath? unfeeling bastard? a machine?" 

The last word stinging his heart, the older man said softly, "No, like you don't realize how important you are to us all."  _To_ _me,_   John adds silently. 

Silence falls in the flat with the exception of the whistle of the kettle. Sherlock turns his back once more to put the water into the mugs and adds a few spoons of sugar to his tea.  He gives John the other mug, careful not to drop any of it because of his now shaking hands and finally sits down, looking exhausted and defeated.  _ _But who knows, maybe it's possible to start over!  No, that's crazy... His life is full of people, it's true what I said at Baskerville. I have only one true friend, and I lost him. He doesn't need me. It's all right, I've been the worst...__

"Sherlock, it's true, you are so important!"

"How can you say that John, I left you to grieve... you... for nearly three years, too preoccupied to save you all to realize that because of my actions I had already lost and hurt the few people that I considered my friends." He drinks his tea for a few minutes, thinking back to those days before The Fall. "I sincerely believed that nobody would miss me..." He shrugs his shoulders. "Not really anyway and that I was finally doing you all a favour by stopping the media frenzy that surrounded our lives following the accusation that I was a fraud." His voice was soft and teary as he was dismissively pushing away his own distress at that time. As if his own suffering,  was less important... This defeated attitude hurt John more than any snarky comment!

"Sherlock, we missed you... I... I missed you so so much. How can you think that whatever the reasons for your death, fake or not, that we wouldn't miss you terribly?"  He pauses, considering what can and what cannot be said at that moment. "I was miserable for so long, I know that I acted like a bastard and knocked you down when you showed yourself at that restaurant while I was trying to start a new life after years of sorrow... but I was so angry when I saw you with that silly drawn on mustache.  At you... At Mycroft for all the lies... but if I am honest I was angry mostly at myself... Because I _should_  have known better than to believe that you could, just like that, have left us... Have left me..." John's voice breaks on the last word, unsure of what to say next.  _I should have waited, I should have believed in you. God, even Anderson believed in you more than me!_ He looks in Sherlock's eyes, fascinated as always by the changing colours, and says,"I am ready now to listen, please explain to me what really happened, I want to understand..." 

_I want to help you._

 

Someone who listens

It was the question Sherlock was waiting for. To finally get a real chance to explain everything clearly and matter-of-factly after the blunder of their first meeting. Reply honestly and without drama to the "I want to know why" question that John asked that night.  _No gimmicks, no smoke screens, just the truth_. Now that John was over (Sherlock sincerely hoped!) the mechanics and people behind the how it's now the time to talk again about the why... "Oh... as I already told you... it was a mind game between Moriarty and me. He wanted to destroy my reputation, my life, my..."  Sherlock pauses and looks away longing for the peace his violin may hold "... heart. Even if we all know that I don't have one," Sherlock added carelessly. John let the falseness of that affirmation go and chose to let Sherlock continue without interruption. "Realising that he can't trust himself around me, sentiments probably... boring, Moriarty killed himself instead of giving me an opportunity to negotiate the withdrawal of the snipers that were following Lestrade, Ms. Hudson... and you. As you now know, the only option left to save you all was to jump and fake my suicide."

It was all old news for John, but it was good to listen to it calmly after weeks of doubts, anger and a deep feeling of uneasiness. He chose once again to stay silent.  _This is Sherlock's turn to talk after nearly three years of... who knows what happened to him while he was away?_   With no one to talk to but maybe Mycroft. John realized that it was no holiday. He's seen enough soldiers in his life to comprehend some of Sherlock's actions and general attitude. He needs to know everything to start again, with a clean slate. _Everything that Sherlock is willing to say._  The only way he'll be able to build back the trust that was there before.  Because even with the drugs in the coffee, the omissions, the drug bust etc, John deeply trusted Sherlock with his life.  

From what he understands now, The Fall was just one more misguided evidence of how much Sherlock cares.

Sherlock came back from wherever his Mind had gone for a while and started to talk again, explaining how it was necessary for his fake death to remain secret for their protection. Skimming over what happened while he chased after Moriarty's web by saying, "I've found all Moriarty gang members and I put them out of business...then I came back when I was able to do so without risking your lives. That's all. I came back as soon as it was safe for you, I promise..."  the tired man said, his voice empty of smugness. He adds with a sad smile, to be certain that John understands "It wasn't a grand holiday." He chooses to stay silent on the extent of the  _permanent_  ways he used or how he was captured a few times. The noise of the dogs, the bullets grazing his skin, the last time in Serbia...  _I am still so tired_. Physically and mentally. _I can't sleep anymore.._. The feeling of being naked in front of John was horrible as he doesn't want the doctor to find him lacking stamina, doubting his morality or, even worse, judging him because he wasn't able to escape his torturer.  _To think that Mycroft had to come to my rescue. What a good detective I am!_ _Mycroft!_  Sherlock let go a profound sigh.

John looked at the detective, hoping to be able to regain the friendship but not knowing what to say to erase the sorrows that are dragging Sherlock down. "That's all that I can say for now," Sherlock concluded, finally getting to his feet and walking over to the window. "It was like a case that went on for three years, the exception being that no one knew how brilliant I was because my blogger was not there..." The dismissive tone couldn't cast away the sadness in his eyes. Taking up his violin,  _yeah that's better, I must DO something with my hands_ , he cradled it... softly plucking the strings without even being conscious of the actions of his fingers. 

"Would you play for me?" John says softly in the hope that a change of discussion will bring his friend back from his dark reverie. The detective put his precious violin under his chin without thinking, the movement of his arm sending arrows in his back, the pain still vivid even though weeks have passed. "Sherlock! Are you ok?" John stands and runs near the man. 

"Yes, yes... don't worry. I would love to play for you, but I don't think I can right now. It's been a long time and my arms are no longer used to the motions..."  Sherlock mutters before carefully putting down the Stradivarius, devastated by the opinion that John must have of him.  _How useless I am. E_ _ven the Strad is conspiring against me!_ _What a nice and poetic metaphor of my life_ , he thought laughing silently at the sappy romantic he has become.  _I want to play, but I can't._   _My back is in too much pain. I love you, but I can't. My heart is too full of pain._

 

... And someone who loves him

The look of sadness in Sherlock's eyes and the way he moves away from him after he closes the violin case was enough for John...  _This must stop, now!_ "Sherlock, I've listened, I was ready and now I understand... I'm still pissed at what you've done - God, you must know that I would have jumped with you if only you had asked - but I understand that you thought it was the only option." The doctor pauses, looking in the eyes of the man in front of him, wanting to close the distance between them. "Don't think I am not able to realize, even if you deny it, how hard it was for you over the last years..." Sherlock turns his head toward the window to look at the street below "... I was in the army! I know the kind of guerillas you dealt with. Moriarty's thugs were probably not all morons and even at your best sometimes you are a bit... reckless with your... transport." At that, the detective gives him a little smirk that encourages John "You know... when I think back to that night at the restaurant, when I tackled you to the floor, images are running in my mind. The champagne, your fake mustache, my hands... fists..., the surprise in your eyes when you realized I wasn't thrilled by your return..."  _The joy that vanished from your eyes._   _The wince of pain._

"I know now that it was presumptuous to think that you were waiting for me at Baker Street. I had no right to intrude on your personal life. You owe me nothing." Sherlock interrupts with a hint of melancholy.

"I owe you everything! You saved me, Sherlock! So many times and in so many ways... In saving my life, you conferred a value on it. It is a debt I didn't know about while you were away... But now my eyes are open and I accept it! You helped me so much... You are the reason why I didn't kill myself when I came back from Afghanistan. I, Doctor John Watson, will for the rest of my life be in your debt..." He solemnly swears "And you know what? It's ok as you are in my debt as well and that I know that we can help each other!" His voice breaks again with emotions. "I can help you heal if you let me, I can listen to whatever you want to say, I'll never judge you. How can I? It was my fault... I wasn't there to protect you and you were hurt because of me... ME!" 

They look into each others' eyes for a moment, not knowing what to say or if any more words are needed at that moment.

"Tea! It's getting cold'" Sherlock says quickly while walking back to the kitchen, John following him without any doubt now. 

"What's this?" The doctor asks with a little smile, pointing at the experiment in front of him.

Sherlock looks at the Bunsen burner with a glint of sparkle in his eyes, pushing his feelings away for now. "Molly gave me an eye a few days ago, I want to check the progression of damage on the optic nerve when submitted to extreme heat," he says while looking with hope at the fridge... 

"Go ahead, I'm curious now!" John says with a bright smile, giving his I-hope-soon-to-be-again-best-friend some space before continuing the much-needed conversation another day. Sherlock gets the eyeball from its container, quickly starts the burner and puts on his goggles with an expert movement. In his excitement of having John near and on the verge of getting back his only true friend if he plays his cards right, the eyeball falls from the tweezers directly into John's mug. 

_Shit_ , John thought.   _Ok_ _, that's it...We won't be able to act normal as long as this situation is not resolved_ "Hum... Mind if I interrupt?" John asks.

"Be my guest. Tea?"'

John not so curiously declines Sherlock offer and pushes his cup away from him with a chuckle. After a few seconds to collect his thoughts, he asks with a quiet confident smile, "So. The big question. What now? Best friend."

With a frown, Sherlock repeats, not knowing what was the question. "Best friend?" 

"Yeah... The position is still available you know." With a little laugh, he tries to nudge Sherlock in the right direction. "What do you think? For me, MY best friend!" 

"Oh, right."  _That's important..._   "Gavin?"

"Who?" 

"Gavin Lestrade? He’s a friend, and good at it. Pub, beer, football and everything..." 

"It’s Greg. And he’s not my best friend." 

"Oh, Mike Stamford, I see. Well, he’s nice, though I’m not sure how well he’d cope with all your drama and such..."Sherlock was more and more perplexed at the discussion.(Silly man!!!)

"No, Mike’s great, but he’s not my best friend. Now, work with me Sherlock, please..."

The detective pauses, trying to determine if he had forgotten someone...  _Molly? No, she's sweet and all, but no match for John's vivacity and strong character._

"Look, Sherlock, this is an important time of my life. A new beginning..." Sherlock makes a funny, dubious face. "No, it is! It is, and I want to start anew with the person that I love and care about most in the world."

"Yes..."  _Since when John is such a drama queen... Go ahead tell me who will fill the void of your life now you don't want to be a real part of mine! That girl, Mary... it must be her!_

"... you."

Sherlock stays perfectly immobile. Computing what John has just said. He looks back at John. _the-person-that-I-love-and-care-about-most-in-the-world-you. t_ _he-person-that-I-love-and-care-about-most-in-the-world-you._

"So, in fact ... You... you mean ... I’m am... your... friend? Still... your... friend?"  

"Yeah, ’course you are. ’Course you’re my friend. My best friend in fact."

Absently, Sherlock picked up the eyeballed-mug in front of him and takes a gulp. John smiles and watches, waiting for Sherlock's reaction. "Well, how was that?" 

"Surprisingly okay!"

They both start to giggle without being able to stop, the first step was behind them and the rest will come in time if it's meant to be...

 

In the flat below, Ms. Hudson looked up at her ceiling with a fond smile.  "I told you, time heals everything..."  she said, as the laughter of her boys travelled down to her living room.

**Author's Note:**

> May sound familiar, it's a new version of my first fic: Something is missing when a house is no more a home. 
> 
> Still not perfect, I will probably re-do-it again next year lol
> 
> And to the readers who are still following my Soulmate AU, don't worry! I'm working on the next chapter!
> 
> I've taken the idea of "In saving my life, you conferred a value on it" from The Lying Detective and the "Best friend speech" from The SIgn of Three :-)


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